


Note in a Bottle

by Nehesemhotep



Series: The Cure for Everything [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel, Depressed Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Castiel, this has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehesemhotep/pseuds/Nehesemhotep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'His heart beat fast as he took out the paper lined with crisp, neat words written in ink.  Not a treasure map then. Dean pursed his lips in a pout. As he began to scroll through the words, the severity of what he was looking at began to sink in.  Irrationally, Dean looked around as if to see someone standing nearby. Someone he could save. Because the note read this....'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Note in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> So for Christmas, my cousin got me this book full of little writing prompts, general stuff, no slash, so obviously, CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! Destiel writing prompt day number 1:
> 
> -You find a note in a bottle on the beach. What does it say?-

      Dean walked along the edge of the water, breathing in deep the smell of salt.  The sun was covered by clouds and the air was a bit chilly, the breeze catching under his t-shirt and making him shiver.  His bare legs were damp from wading in the surf, and his toes were numb, but Dean didn’t want to head back yet.  He groaned, thinking about the fight he had with Sam earlier.  Sam had invited him up to his beach house for the weekend, which Dean had thought odd only for the fact that it was still spring and what fun was the beach when you couldn’t even swim yet?  It became clear when the door to the small but expensive home was opened by Sam’s girlfriend of all of four months, Jess.  

       Engaged. Sam was practically bouncing with happiness when they told him, but Dean couldn’t share it.  He liked Jess, of course he did.  She was by all appearances perfect for his brother-smart, shrewd, sensitive and tough.  But, four months. Four months!  Dean sighed, remembering the way Sam’s face had clouded with anger.  The way Sam argued that Dean just couldn’t let someone else be happy.  That just because Dean was determined to be miserable, he had no right to tell others to not pursue what makes them happy.  Sam had told Jess about their parents, about the fire, dad’s drinking, the way they grew up.  The way the both of them had to walk the edge of the law to survive.  Maybe, Sam had said, he should try to be honest with someone for once.

       Dean had slammed the door as he walked out, angry but also deeply hurt.  His hands had been shaking.  The same hands that clambered up the fire escape of an abandoned factory and almost let go as his body swayed over the railing.  The same hands that held his pistol against his temple as he pondered what he would feel if he pulled the trigger.  The truth was that if Dean was honest with anyone else about the things he’d done-and Sam only knew a fraction-he’d have to relive them, face them all on his own, to be honest with himself, too. And he just couldn’t. Everytime he tried, his hands began to reach for that gun, to loosen on that railing.

       The sound of the ocean was reassuring and Dean’s breaths had evened out, slowly.  His eyes panned the horizon, spread over the waves moving hypnotically across his vision.  In his line of sight suddenly appeared a dark dot, a shape bobbing in the water. As it moved closer to the shore, Dean moved closer into the water.  He was waist deep as his hands clasped over the glass object.  A bottle.  He backed out of the water, stumbling over momentarily numbed legs.  He looked into the amber bottle and saw a paper inside, sealed neatly in a plastic bag.  Dean unscrewed the top, fighting back the childish urge to grin.  Like, how many people in their life ever actually found a note in a bottle?  

       His heart beat fast as he pulled out the baggie and took out the paper lined with crisp, neat words written in ink.  Not a treasure map then. Dean pursed his lips in a pout.  Maybe it was a secret code. Or a love poem. Oh god, hopefully not. That would be just what he needed right now.  As Dean began to scroll through the words, the severity of what he was looking at began to sink in.  Irrationally, Dean looked around as if to see someone standing nearby. Someone he could save. Because the note read this.

 

_Good afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening or morning when you find this. Whichever greeting is appropriate, I want to wish it to you. Anyway-this is hopefully the last thing I will ever write.  I put this letter in a bottle because I have no one to give it to, but it feels better somehow to write down my last words in the hopes that someone might read them someday, and forgive a stranger for saying a goodbye on a piece of paper._

 

Dean’s heart was still pounding now, but with heaviness and dread.  He felt a sadness for this person who made it seem like there would not even be a person to miss him.  To notice he was gone.  Swallowing, he read on.

 

_I am very tired.  Sometimes I feel like I have been dead a long time already. According to my family and my former classmates; I might as well have been. Who and what I am. What I feel. I’ve never known love or true friendship. I only hope that I ‘ll at least know peace when this is over.  I wish I could know you, stranger, but I know that if I told you who I really am, then you would hate me. And I can’t bear for one more person to do so. Just know that I tried so hard to be a good brother and a good person, and I hope you are well and happy, because I never want someone to feel like I feel. Take care, stranger. Peace._

 

_Castiel._

 

       Dean felt tears running down his cheeks and on to the paper below him, so carefully kept dry in the bottle, now wrinkling; the ink ran and smeared under the tears.  “Castiel,” Dean choked out, not knowing why he was so upset. Only that these person’s words were cutting him like a knife; like they were his own.  “Goodbye, Castiel.” Dean whispered, gently folding the paper back up and placing it inside the bottle, carrying it back to the house.  

       All the fight had gone out of him, and when Sam glared at him, he whispered, “Sorry.” Sam’s face had shifted into shocked concern as he took in the tears and puffy eyes and slumped shoulders.  Jess had moved into the room and gave Dean an awkward but sincere hug.  The action had prompted Dean to suppress more tears. Because if Jess could still care about him after being such an ass, then maybe she was already family.

 

       Six months passed, and Dean was back at the beach house for the wedding.  Jess was jubilant, trailed by her bridesmaids and proud parents.  Sam was being teased by his friends, as they prepared to leave for the bachelor party.  Dean shouted to Sam that he was running into town and that they would head out when he got back.  He gave a little wave to Jess, who smiled and shouted a thank you.  Jess had begged Dean to go get them some mini cupcakes.

       Sam had apparently inhaled all the baked goods in the house that had been intended for the party. The kid may be a health nut in general, but he was also apparently a stress eater.  Dean realized that Jess could also probably tell he was getting antsy, and was giving him a brief respite from the action.  

       Dean turned the key in the ignition and the impala roared to life.  It was a short drive to the market, and the bell on the door clanged merrily as he entered.  He wandered up the rows and noticed a man stocking shelves.  He looked to be about Dean’s age, with rich brown hair and tanned skin.  He moved with a fluidity that suggested athleticism, Dean’s gaze followed the strong arms that moved so purposefully as the man lined up the boxes of cookies.  His gaze was furrowed, like he took the task seriously, and Dean’s lips quirked at the adorableness of it.  The man seemed to sense Dean’s gaze on him, because he suddenly turned and looked at him.  Dean quickly looked away, clearing his throat and nervously scratching the back of his neck.  Without looking back up he moved into the next aisle and found some cupcakes that had blue sprinkles on them.  Score.  Dean grabbed a pack of the blue adorned mini cupcakes and a carton of ones that were covered in chocolate icing.  

       He made his way to the counter, where a bored looking cashier scanned them in.  Dean reached into his back pocket for his wallet and his fingers met an empty pocket. “Shit,” Dean swore under his breath.  He looked at the cashier, “I must have left my wallet…”  The cashier just stared with a blank expression, waiting.  For some reason, instead of just turning around, Dean felt the need to talk, “I was just getting these for my future sister-in-law’s bachelorette party. I was in a rush because the party’s starting like...now, and my brother ate everything in the house and Jess begged me to get her these and, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up.”

       Dean grabbed the plastic containers and turned to find the man from earlier right behind him.  He was momentarily entranced as intense blue eyes looked into his.  The man took the cupcakes from Dean’s grip and placed them back on the counter, “I’ll get these, Thomas.” The man’s voice was deep and rough and soothing, and Dean wanted more of it.  

       “Thanks, man.” Dean managed, a mixture of relieved and confused, “But it’s okay, I’m sure I could probably run back to the house…”  The man turned a small, closed smile on him as he paid the cashier. His eyes were sincere and layered with a deep sadness.

        “I know.  I guess I just, never mind.” His voice faded out to a mumble and his eyes looked down as if in shame.  The cashier handed Dean the bag with the cupcakes, and the man turned to leave and Dean caught his arm gently,

       “Hey. Thank you. Really.”  The man looked up at him hesitantly.  Dean held out his free hand, “I’m Dean.”  The man took his hand, shaking it softly,

       “Castiel.”  

       Dean froze with his hand still in the man’s grip.  Castiel looked at him nervously, eyes searching his face, “Dean? Are you alright?”

       Dean released his grip, “Um, yeah, hey can, can you walk with me a sec?”  Castiel tilted his head, pausing, eyes squinted in wary confusion.

        “All right.”  Dean opened the door to the shop and walked outside, Castiel trailing behind him.  He made his way to the impala and placed the cupcakes in the back seat, then turned back to Castiel who was waiting patiently behind him.

       “Cas. I know I met you about-2 minutes ago,” Dean tried to chuckle, but it came out strained, “but I wanted to say that I don’t think I could ever hate you.”  Castiel’s eyes widened and his face paled.  Dean’s stomach dropped. So this was _his_ Castiel. Not that Dean had ever had much doubt, I mean, how many Castiel’s are there? But still.

       Cas was silent but he slowly turned panicked eyes from Dean’s face down to his arms, and he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them up.  He held them up to Dean like a confession, face ashamed and eyes downcast.  He was trembling as Dean took his wrists carefully and looked at the thick white scars there. “I tried, but…” Cas swallowed, fighting back tears.  Dean rubbed his thumb over the scars one last time, then closed Cas’ fingers and clasped his hands, squeezing gently.   

       “Cas, you don’t owe me an explanation, or anything, man. I just, wanted to tell you I want to get to know you.”  

       “Why?” Cas replied after a minute, his voice hoarse.

       “Because I also know what it’s like to feel alone and like life’s gone away a long time ago.”  Dean let go of Cas’ hands, immediately missing the warmth, and he backed up, blurting out, “Do you want to go to a bachelor party?”  

       Cas looked up at him, “What?”  Dean rubbed the back of his neck,

       “Well, my brother’s you know, having his party tonight, and he’s got all these friends going, but I kind of, I don’t know them-at all, and I’d like a friend going too.”  He looked at Cas as he spoke, noting the hope in the man’s eyes, the way they sparked when he said _friend_.  Cas smiled slowly, a full smile that reached his eyes as a bashful flush rose in his cheeks. “Okay.” he said.

      


End file.
